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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789118">Three's Not Always A Crowd</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup/pseuds/turnitup'>turnitup</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Three's Company [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEAL Team (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub, First Time, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - M/M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:21:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup/pseuds/turnitup</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“What we’re saying is,” Metal murmurs, and his gaze darts briefly down to Clay’s lips before snapping back up, “that if you want it. We’re yours.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scott Carter/Clay Spenser, Scott Carter/Trent Sawyer, Trent Sawyer/Clay Spenser, Trent Sawyer/Scott Carter/Clay Spenser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Three's Company [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Three's Not Always A Crowd</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>-- TRIGGER WARNING --<br/>The following contains content relating to a consensual and explicit sexual relationship between three adult men. It has also been tagged with "Bad BDSM Etiquette" as certain actions that occur are consented to/welcomed by participating parties but have not been previously discussed.  </p><p>If this is something that could be potentially triggering or offensive to you, please do not continue reading.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You know,” Clay says, a bit strangled, “there’s plenty of couch space for the three of us.”</p><p>The couch in Trent and Metal’s apartment is leather and feels expensive. Considering how often they aren’t home, it might be the one and only thing in their apartment that the guys splurged on, but Clay has to admit it was worth it.</p><p>All three of them are piled high in shaggy blankets that Metal materialized from a closet somewhere, after he and Trent invited Clay back here to hang out, and Clay choked on a <em>yeah, cool, that would be — uh, cool</em>. A cold rain is lashing the window behind them.</p><p>Everything feels warm and soft and liminal, somehow. Like if Clay turned to peer out at the cold Virginia beach below them, it’ll have ceased to exist.</p><p>It fits the surreality of the moment, honestly. Clay hasn’t hung out much with Trent and Metal outside of the base, let alone come back to their apartment. Clay is kind of kicking himself over how much he feels like one of the cool kids. By all means, he should be sinking into the couch in bliss.</p><p>But he can’t relax. Because Trent and Metal seem to have forgotten the concept of personal space. Almost half of the entire couch is being neglected, the three of them packed tight onto the other.</p><p>“Really?” Metal says. He has the absolute gall to act surprised. “I hadn’t noticed.”</p><p>They started in a normal position, Clay swears — they must have, right? It’s getting harder to remember, now that Clay is wedged between them, the heat of their bodies pressed close.</p><p>Trent is curled into Clay’s side against the armrest, his head almost snug on his shoulder. Clay can feel his every breath when his chest swells against him.</p><p>And Metal’s head is tilted all the way back to the cushion behind him, the sharp angle of his throat in relief, eyes on the TV. But his fingers are tracing shapes on the inside of Clay’s wrist. His long legs are spread wide and crowd into Clay’s space.</p><p>Clay feels smothered and hot and a little bit trapped in a way that’s not unpleasant. Not at all.</p><p>Is this what friends do? Clay hasn’t had a lot of experience with friends in his twenty four years, not really. It’s not like he has the time to meet people outside of work and making friends at work would be easier if he wasn’t a Spenser. He’s shared so many beds and bathrooms and even showers throughout his life that any sense of personal privacy has been decimated.</p><p>He can’t tell if this is normal friend behavior, or if he has a valid reason to be struggling to breathe. And by the way Trent is smiling against Clay’s neck, he can tell.</p><p>There’s a movie playing on the TV. Clay paid attention at first. Around fifteen minutes in, Metal pulled his hoodie off, bringing the hem of his shirt up with it, exposing several inches of smooth skin and the taut muscles of his abdomen. And Clay kinda lost the plot.</p><p>Trent isn’t any better. His hand has been on Clay’s thigh since they curled up here an hour ago. Every time Clay almost forgets it’s there, Metal tells a joke and Trent laughs and digs his nails in, briefly, just enough to be felt, and inches upward ever so slightly.</p><p>Clay is sweating. It’s the middle of November and he’s <em>sweating</em>. He kicked the blankets off ages ago. It hasn’t helped.</p><p>The couple on screen — separated temporarily for some reason, Clay thinks it might have been for their jobs or something — are arguing. Until they pull each other into a kiss. The woman sighs against him, high and breathy, melts into his arms.</p><p>“Oh, jeez,” Metal says, low and wicked. Trent snickers. His fingers press into the soft flesh of Clay’s thigh.</p><p>Clay stares at the hole in his sock instead.</p><p>Watching a love scene in a movie by himself or even in a theatre is one thing.</p><p>It’s an entirely different experience when he’s pressed on both sides by warm, attractive bodies with wandering hands, and something simmering in the air between the three of them. Something that’s been building for a while and is cresting to a peak. Clay is drowning in it.</p><p>And it’s all too easy to substitute the moving bodies on screen with his own and Trent’s, and Metal’s, with both of them together. Like a side reel Clay can’t control. Their mouths sliding slick against his own, their hands joining on his shoulder or his hip as they mouth up his neck, his chest, bite the soft skin behind his ears, right where he likes it —</p><p>“I’m glad they finally got together. Took them long enough,” Metal says, snapping Clay guiltily out of his reverie. The movie. He’s referring to the movie, Clay reminds himself.</p><p>None of them have spoken in a while, and it’s too casual to not feel — calculated, somehow. If Clay knows anything about Metal, it’s that he does everything with deliberate purpose. Whether he had that before becoming Alpha-1 or he acquired it after – Metal moves through the world with surety, with the expectation that people are watching him. Clay knows he’s one of them.</p><p>“Mm,” Trent agrees. His nose tickles Clay’s neck, his breath humid against his skin.</p><p>The man is backing the woman into the wall. Their breathing is labored.</p><p>Is Metal intentionally bearing all his weight against Clay’s side, like he’s pinning him in place? Everything is hot. Clay is <em>hot</em>.</p><p>The man in the movie pulls the woman’s top off, their mouths meeting again, and he presses her into the bed. She throws her head back, and — oh, God, they’re watching a full-blown sex scene.</p><p>The realization hits Clay faster than he can control his body’s response. His breath catches.</p><p>“Oh,” Trent chuckles. His thumb is grazing the edge of Clay’s boxers inside his sweatpants. Clay thinks it might be deliberate. “See something you like, sunshine?”</p><p>Heat crawls all the way from Clay’s eats to his chest, betraying him. As if his shallow breathing wasn’t already. “Don’t.”</p><p>Metal rolls to his side to face him. He’s so close. Clay has to lean back so that their noses don’t brush.</p><p>“Are you really worked up over that? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He has a huge, smug grin on his face, though, and Clay is pretty sure he’s teasing him. Metal. <em>Teasing </em>him. Clay wants to die.</p><p>“Both of you just — drop it, please,” Clay says, but it’s thin. He’s pretty sure Trent is laughing, he can feel his shoulders shaking silently against him. But when he turns to shoot him a glare, Trent blinks, the portrait of innocence.</p><p>Metal has this way of looking at people that makes you feel like the most cherished person in the entire universe and also like he’s imagining you naked. He’s giving that look to Clay now, full force. Clay turns to Trent instead for some relief.</p><p>But Trent has a dangerous little light in his gaze, one that Clay has only ever seen when he’s aiming down range. The overlap of the vicious, beautiful Trent when he’s Brave-4 and the Trent now, in a soft sweater and fuzzy socks, blinking coyly up at him from on Clay’s shoulder — well. It’s entirely too fucking much.</p><p>Clay goes back to staring at his socks.</p><p>“He’s really blushing, huh?” Metal remarks to Trent over Clay’s shoulder. Like he can’t <em>hear</em> them teasing him.</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” Clay says. It comes out thin and petulant, like a child. Trent shakes with silent laughter against him again. Trent laughs far too much, Clay thinks furiously, and far too often at Clay’s expense.</p><p>The scene on the TV is finally over, lapsed into something quiet with sweet piano notes. Clay doesn’t feel any relief, though. Not when Trent still has a dangerously high grip on his thigh, and not when Metal forfeits all pretense of decency and swings one leg into Clay’s lap.</p><p>And the thing is, Clay has <em>thought</em> about this.</p><p>He’s imagined this more times than he can count. He has a crush that’s two-fold, he’ll admit it.</p><p>Ever since he heard the whispers from other SEALs that Trent and Metal were sleeping together, Clay has been losing sleep over it. Imagining how their bodies move together. How Trent’s strong arms would feel around his waist. How Metal’s collar bones would taste under his lips. In his fantasies, Clay was always devastatingly smooth, seducing Trent and Metal with only his wit and a quirk of his brow.</p><p>But right now, he feels like a fumbling, nervous teenager who doesn’t know where to put his hands.</p><p>“Cute,” Trent says. He is, unmistakably, referring to Clay. He flushes even harder.</p><p>“Very,” Metal agrees. His fingers circle Clay’s wrist. He brings his hand up to his mouth, kisses the back of his palm, barely a brush of lips. “You really got hot and bothered over just a movie scene, huh? You must be desperate for it.”</p><p>And it’s impossible, then, to hide the jerky gasp that’s yanked out of Clay. It’s <em>mortifying</em>. Clay squirms in between the press of them, desperate for air, for anything.</p><p>“I’m just,” he says. “I can’t help it, okay? You would be, too, if you—” He forces himself to stop, before he gives away too much.</p><p>“If what, sunshine?” Trent asks, far too observant for his own good. He brushes his thumb against Clay’s hip, bare where his shirt has ridden up. It takes everything in Clay not to flinch. “Didn’t take you to be shy.”</p><p>“Not — exactly?”</p><p>“Clay,” Metal says against his ear, barely a ghost of air. “Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”</p><p>“No!” Clay says defensively, reflexively. He clears his throat. “No. I’m just,” he repeats. “It’s — it’s been a while, is all.”</p><p>Metal cups his chin and turns Clay’s face towards him. His eyes are dark, his voice so gravelly, Clay feels it deep in his stomach when he says, “Since you’ve fucked someone? Or been fucked by someone?”</p><p>And there it is. It’s a crossing of a threshold, a point of no return. There’s no denying what this has become now. Clay licks his lips and inhales, unsteady. Something smells musky and woodsy like cologne, and Clay is truly unsure of who it’s coming from, both Metal and Trent leaning in so close it could be either.</p><p>Clay considers, briefly, lying to them. It would be easy to diffuse things now with a joke. To embody the cocky little shit persona he wears on base. To laugh and shrug it off and turn back to the movie, and it’ll all be a fantasy again and he’ll cum into his own fist thinking about it later.</p><p>But Clay is tired of living in fantasies.</p><p>He straightens his spine and gathers what little courage he can muster.</p><p>“Okay, I’ve — I’ve never had sex,” Clay forces out.</p><p>He’s rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from both of them, Trent’s hand going vise-like on Clay’s thigh.</p><p>Admitting it is horrible. There’s always that tiny curl of shame and insecurity — like maybe no one has wanted Clay for a reason. That he’s defective.</p><p>“Fuck,” Trent says, voice thick. Then he leans in and presses his mouth to Clay’s throat, and sucks, hard. Any remaining thought in Clay’s mind is swept away completely.</p><p>Metal is boring holes into Clay’s eyes. It makes him feel like he’s being held in place without Metal lifting a finger.</p><p>“That’s a shame.” Metal grazes his knuckles down the length of Clay’s jaw, careful not to bump Trent, who’s working down Clay’s neck. His skin burns in the trail his finger leaves. “Someone as pretty as you deserves to be fucked.”</p><p>Clay can’t help but shudder. It’s getting harder to form words with Trent’s mouth on his neck. “It’s just never — the right time has never. Come up, I guess?” he squeaks. God, he sounds younger and lamer by the second.</p><p>It happens in three. One: “It can be the right time now,” Trent says, breathy, coming up for air. Clay feels his words, Trent’s chest flush against his side, as much as he hears them.</p><p>Two: “What are you saying?” Clay rasps.</p><p>Three: “What we’re saying is,” Metal murmurs, and his gaze darts briefly down to Clay’s lips before snapping back up, “that if you want it. We’re yours.”</p><p><em>Oh.</em> Clay’s heart stutters and restarts in his chest. All their cards, out on the table for Clay to see. The choice, his for the taking. And it’s been so <em>long</em> since he’s been touched at all, and Trent and Metal are <em>everywhere</em>, hands warm, breath on his neck, the way he’s always wanted, and he’s half-hard in his sweatpants and all he wants is —</p><p>“Yes.” Clay swallows thickly. “Yes, please.”</p><p>Clay hears himself make a noise of surprise when the older man melts his mouth into his, but it’s like his body isn’t his own. Of course it’s incredible. Of <em>course</em> Metal backs up his every tease and flirt by being fucking <em>incredible</em> at this. He presses his tongue gently into the seam of Clay’s mouth and eagerly licks in when Clay accepts it.</p><p>He lets his lips fall open, pliant, lets Metal fuck into his mouth with the blade of his tongue, Trent’s teeth grazing his jugular, wet and messy and perfect. Everything Clay dreamed of.</p><p>Clay expected them both to be talented. What he didn’t expect is the wild light in Trent’s eyes when he drags Clay away, breaking their kiss, to say, “My turn.” He pulls Clay with a fistful of his shirt to his lips, instead.</p><p>Clay is barely clinging to life, but he manages to moan, “Oh, <em>fuck</em>,” against Trent’s mouth before he’s lost. Metal kisses like a starving man but Trent’s mouth is like indulgence, warm and heady. He pours his tongue into Clay’s eager mouth like wine.</p><p>Metal latches his teeth to his neck in Trent’s absence, and the answering noise he makes has Trent smiling against his lips. Trent moves from Clay’s mouth to his jaw, nips him gently.</p><p>“This is okay?” Trent mutters into warm skin.</p><p>“God,” Clay gasps. “No, it’s horrible. You both are awful.”</p><p>Metal grins at him, lazy, eyes half-lidded. “You’re pretty terrible yourself.”</p><p>Before Metal can chase Clay’s mouth with his own, Clay begs off.</p><p>“Wait, wait,” he gasps. Metal and Trent both pull away immediately. “Are you two, like, together?” They’re both silent, just staring at him, for so long that Clay thinks he’s ruined everything. “Sorry. You don’t — have to answer that. I was just — wondering, forget it.”</p><p>They cut their eyes at each other and Clay worries he’s overstepped some boundary, and then they’re laughing, leaning in to bump foreheads briefly.</p><p>Trent draws away and noses into the skin behind Clay’s ear. “Are we that obvious?”</p><p>Clay has seen the heated glances, the lingering hands, the way they cling close as if they’re staking a claim. It’s hard to miss. Especially when Clay is almost as attuned to their bodies as they are with one another’s.</p><p>“What will you do if I say yes?” Clay says. This time, all three of them laugh.</p><p>“We’ve been together for a very long time,” Metal says. He holds Clay’s gaze. “But we’ve never done <em>this</em> before, so you can consider yourself special.”</p><p><em>Special</em>. The word makes Clay’s heart do some concerning backflips. That maybe this is more than just a hook-up to them, too.</p><p>But Clay is getting ahead of himself, now.</p><p>“This is — really nice,” he says. “But this can just be, um.” He realizes at some point he dug his hand under Trent’s shirt, and awkwardly fishes it out to clutch in his lap. “This can just be making out. Like, we don’t have to—”</p><p>Metal grins, all sharp canines, looking fond but exasperated. But it’s Trent who huffs out a breath and surges up, over, and sits directly in Clay’s lap.</p><p>He looms over him, forcing Clay to tilt his head back, baring his neck, vulnerable.</p><p>“Oh Bravo-6,” he says, low and unflinching. “Drop the innocent little virgin act and let me and my boyfriend fuck you.”</p><p>Clay whimpers. “Yeah. Yup. Cool. Let’s do that now, I want that.”</p><p>“Start with this.” Metal tugs at the hem of Clay’s shirt. “I want it off.”</p><p>The material is up and over Clay’s head in moments, and he tosses it somewhere to the side. Both Trent and Metal’s eyes drop immediately to his newly-bared skin. Clay is pretty sure he’s about to combust.</p><p>“God, I’ve wanted to get my mouth on you for weeks” Trent bites. And then he’s already moving to attack Clay’s neck, to lave bruises wherever his mouth can reach.</p><p>“Oh, fuck” Clay squeaks, writhing under him, “jeezus.”</p><p> </p><p>Trent mutters something into his Adam’s apple to Metal that might be, “Told you he’d be sensitive.” Before Clay can even begin to unpack anything about <em>that</em>, Trent’s mouth is working over him again and Metal is saying something. Clay refocuses with effort.</p><p>“—do you want to do this?” Metal searches Clay’s face, over his eyes, his mussed hair, his flushed cheeks, his bitten mouth. “How do you want us?”</p><p>Clay almost laughs. How to tell them that he’s been imagining his first time with the both of them for months? That just by doing this, Clay feels like he’s living one of his wet dreams?</p><p>“Do you want it in our bed?” Trent asks. He bites the soft skin behind Clay’s ear and laughs softly over the way Clay arches into him. “Or we can stay here, on the couch. Whatever you want.”</p><p>Besides being so turned on Clay could cry, the eagerness in Trent’s tone makes his chest fill with warmth. That they want to make this good for him, that they want his first time to be what he always dreamed of.</p><p>As tempting as it sounds to do this in Metal’s bed — in sheets that smell like his body, his face pressed into Metal’s pillow the way he fantasized — there’s something so <em>hot</em> about the idea of losing his virginity on this couch, right this second. So eager for each other’s bodies they couldn’t make it to the bedroom.</p><p>“Can we—?” Clay wraps his arms around Trent’s waist, hoping his touch will say what he can’t. “Here?”</p><p>In lieu of answering, Trent braces his hands on the cushions behind Clay and grinds down onto his cock. Clay is startled by his own volume.</p><p>“Do you wanna come like this?” Trent ruts his hips in Clay’s lap, agonizingly slow, too dry and through too many layers for it to be <em>really </em>good. But Clay is still drooling wet with precum for it. He can feel Trent’s hardness against his own abdomen, can feel him twitch against Clay when he pushes his hips up to meet him.</p><p>He gets two handfuls of Trent’s ass — <em>you’re touching Trent’s ass</em>, his last remaining brain cells scream at him and chases Trent’s sigh with a kiss.</p><p>Clay forgets as they’re kissing for a moment that Trent asked him a question.</p><p>“Wait. No, I—” He yelps when Trent dives down and latches around his nipple. Trent scrapes it with his teeth. Clay’s head thumps against the couch as he feels himself peak and goosebump against Trent’s mouth. “<em>Oh</em>—”</p><p>“Babe,” Metal scolds. He reaches between them to grab Trent’s hips with both hands, stilling him. “Let the man breathe.”</p><p>“Sorry.” Trent looks properly chastened but thoroughly pleased with himself. “Too much?”</p><p>Clay almost laughs. “Are you kidding? Jesus fuck. Please. I’m going insane.”</p><p>“Not until you tell us what you want,” Metal says, teasing but edging on a demand.</p><p>Clay scrubs a hand across his face that’s already burning before he’s said a word. “Why do you have to make me <em>say </em>it?”</p><p>Trent and Metal exchange smiles. “Because you’re cute.” Trent tugs on Clay’s earlobe gently. “Thought that was obvious.”</p><p>“I want — oh, God. Okay.” Clay hides his face in his hands, flushing so hot he’s sure they both can feel it, pressed against him. “I want you both to fuck me? Like, <em>fuck </em>me, either of you, both. Or I’ll fuck you. Whatever. I just — need you so bad. Please.”</p><p>Metal’s mouth tickles his ear when he whispers against it. “Say please again. I like that.”</p><p>It’s Trent’s turn to scold his boyfriend. “Stop torturing him,” he laughs and playfully pushes him back into the couch. “Let’s give him what he wants. Go be useful and get what we need from your bedroom.”</p><p>“All right, all right,” Metal waves him off, scooting off of the couch.</p><p>Clay’s heart swoops with the realization of what’s coming soon. And maybe Trent feels it against his chest, because when Metal turns to leave, Trent says, “Wait.”</p><p>“Eh?”</p><p>Trent rests his head on Clay’s shoulder, blinking coyly at Metal standing in front of them. “Give us something to tide us over while you’re gone.”</p><p>Metal crosses his arms and pushes his tongue into the side of his cheek. “Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind.”</p><p>“Strip!” Trent says, startling a snort out of Clay. “We want to see some skin.”</p><p>Metal’s ears flush red. He glances away, uncharacteristically shy, but he’s grinning so hard it lights up his face into something adorable. “I don’t think you’re ready for that.”</p><p>“That’s bold, coming from the man I see preen in front of the mirror every morning—”</p><p>“T!” Metal is blushing for real. “Not in front of—”</p><p>“Please, as if you don’t love the attention. Take it off!”</p><p>“Yeah, what’s the deal?” Clay says, emboldened. “You take your shirt off in the cages, but not for us?”</p><p>Clay knows that worked because Metal’s eyes glint. “Is that a challenge?”</p><p>“I think it is.”</p><p>With that, Metal whips his shirt off, and both Trent and Clay erupt in cheers. And Metal is positively beaming, a little shy but thrumming with pride in his movements, as he throws his shirt to the side.</p><p>Clay’s mouth goes dry when Metal runs a hand down his ripped torso and strikes a goofy model pose, hands laced behind his neck, shooting them a picture-perfect smolder. Not quite the strip-tease Trent asked for, but none of them are complaining.</p><p>It’s silly and confusingly sexy and entirely ridiculous, and Clay is suddenly so deliriously happy, he can only clutch Trent closer in his lap as he heaves with laughter.</p><p>All three of them are laughing so hard, Clay forgets his nerves for a minute, forgets about his own desperate need to impress the two boys who are about to take his virginity — for a moment, they’re just three, normal guys having fun, without pressure or expectation.</p><p>“Keep your hands to yourself until I get back,” Metal says with a crooked grin, after he’s gotten his fill of their attention and their laughter has subsided. “That means <em>you</em>,” he directs at Trent. “I don’t want to miss a second.”</p><p>He disappears into the hallway.</p><p>Trent turns and blinks at Clay. Clay’s heart stutters, embarrassing. “Hi.”</p><p>Clay bumps his nose against Trent’s, not quite a kiss. “Hi yourself.”</p><p>Trent is so close, Clay can count his eyelashes, can feel his breath pool on his lips as Trent’s eyes roam over him, drinking their fill. He reaches between Clay’s legs, hesitant. When he finds where Clay is half-tenting his sweatpants, he grips him lightly. Clay hisses out a breath through his teeth.</p><p>“But Metal said...”</p><p>“I’ve thought about this a lot.” Trent ignores him. His palm working over his cock doesn’t stop even as he’s talking. “Do you know that? Wanted to do this with you for a while.”</p><p>Clay closes his eyes and tips his head back, focuses on not coming from Trent’s hand and his words before they’ve even gotten to the good part. “You’re just saying that.”</p><p>“Am not.” Almost a pout. That earns Clay a particularly hard squeeze. He bucks his hips up off the couch with a groan.</p><p>Trent kisses his collarbone, his throat, where his jaw meets his neck. “Me and Metal talked about it, before. Talked about fucking you.” Trent grins into his neck. “It’s always got Metal off.”</p><p>Clay’s soul does a fucking jack knife inside his body. “Oh, fuck — you <em>talked</em> about me?” He cards through his own sweaty hair and laughs weakly. “Fuck, Trent, if you had—”</p><p>“If I’d what?”</p><p>Clay is shy about saying the words. But Trent just revealed something so intimate about himself and Metal. Clay wants to return the favor.</p><p>“I thought about this, too.” Clay meets his eyes and finds them burning. “Thought about both of you fucking me, I thought about it so many times, came so many times thinking about you—”</p><p>He’s cut off when Trent groans and drags him by a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him, forceful. But not before he reaches down to palm his own cock through his pants. He shifts forward in Clay’s lap, pressing their stiff cocks together. They both choke on moans.</p><p>Clay wants to pull away, to watch the way Trent’s hand works over himself, memorize how he likes to be touched. He wants to learn and put what he learned to good use.</p><p>Then Trent’s fingers dip below Clay’s waistband, warm on his skin, searching —</p><p>“Trent.”</p><p>They both break away. Metal is in the doorway, eyes dark.</p><p>There’s nothing playful or shy in his movements, now. Only confidence and authority as he crosses the room and is at their side in an instant. He sets down a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms on the table as he passes.</p><p>Metal tilts Trent’s chin up with one finger. And all at once Clay understands something fundamental about their dynamic, like a puzzle piece snapping into place. What Trent usually keeps guarded in snarky hands and eyes, Metal teases out of him, lets him become this where no one else can see them. No one else but Clay.</p><p>And when Trent acts out, Metal puts him in his place.</p><p>Clay watches the way Trent’s eyes go glassy, and wishes wildly that <em>he</em> was the one making Trent look like that. That he had the power to make Trent go loose and pliant, the way his body does in Clay’s lap now.</p><p>“What did I tell you to do?” Metal asks, silky sweet.</p><p>“Keep my hands to myself,” Trent mumbles. He at least has the wherewithal to look shame-faced. Trent is right up against Clay’s cock, and he knows Trent can feel it twitch against him when he says, “I can’t help it, I wanna touch him so bad.”</p><p>Metal’s eyes travel over Trent’s face, his red, parted lips, his flushed cheeks. He trails his finger from under Trent’s chin up to his lips. Trent accepts it greedily into his mouth and makes a small noise of pleasure around it.</p><p>Clay exhales, hard, his legs parting under Trent of their own accord. Their heads both turn to him, Trent still sucking on Metal’s finger.</p><p>“You haven’t been a good boy, have you? Teasing Clay like this.” But his eyes are on Clay, even as he adds a second finger and slowly fucks into Trent’s mouth, who’s making soft, keening noises around it.</p><p>Clay has never heard Metal’s voice like this before. So rough but restrained, like he’s barely holding back what’s burning underneath. “Tonight’s about Clay, and you’re being a needy little slut.”</p><p>Trent <em>shudders</em>, clenches his thighs around Clay between them.</p><p>“To be fair,” Clay says weakly, “I enjoyed it. Am enjoying it, currently. Don’t stop on my behalf.”</p><p>Trent dissolves into a giggle around Metal’s fingers in his mouth. He pulls off with a wet pop.</p><p>“I think it’s time that we teach Trent a lesson,” Metal says, sweet. “Don’t you think?”</p><p>It’s a line straight out of a porno, one that doesn’t happen in real life. Except it just did. And Clay is almost painfully hard over the implications of what Metal could mean.</p><p>“I don’t—” he stutters. “I don’t know how—”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Metal leans over and presses the fingers that were in Trent’s mouth to the corner of Clay’s lips. They’re still slick with Trent’s spit. “I can teach you, too.”</p><p>It starts as Metal spitting the entire filthy scenario of what they’re about to do in Clay’s ear. And it ends here: Clay naked with his bare knees planted in the leather of the couch, Metal in the same state behind him, and Trent laid out in front of him like a fucking wet dream on long legs, looking up at him with huge eyes from where he’s propped on the couch’s armrest.</p><p>Clay can’t stop staring at the hard lines of Trent’s body, creamy white in the hastening dark outside. Clay would be jealous of his perfection, if his cock weren’t so hard for him it’s almost painful.</p><p>There are pillows under Trent’s hips, his legs spread wide and inviting for him. All for Clay. To bury himself inside him. Trent has the smallest of moles right on the inside of his thigh, below the turgid pink of his cock and dark patch of hair around it.</p><p>Clay is losing his goddamn mind.</p><p>How did he end up here? What karmically great things did he do in a past life to give him this?</p><p>“You should be illegal,” he says, shaky and reverent. He runs one hand up Trent’s thigh, over that damn mole. If nineteen-year-old Clay could see himself now, he’d be going into cardiac arrest. Trent somehow still has the shame to blush.</p><p>“Isn’t he beautiful?” Metal says in his ear. Clay is pulled firmly back into his body here and now. “Don’t you want to fuck him? The way you’ve always wanted?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>.” Trent’s cock jumps against his stomach. Anticipation pools hot in Clay’s belly, crackles across his skin. Trent is a dream but this isn’t one. This is happening.</p><p>Metal presses the bottle of lube into Clay’s hand. He growls, “Then <em>take</em> him.”</p><p>Metal is holding Clay’s waist like it’s a life raft. Trent is looking up at them both with huge eyes, rapt, like he’s discovering religion. Clay’s hand is shaking so hard that he almost misses it when he squeezes out lube onto his fingers. He knows the mechanics of what’s about to happen. He’s watched enough porn to know. He can do this.</p><p>What he isn’t prepared for is the whine, deep in his chest, that Trent lets out when Clay slides one finger inside him. His mouth parts in a silent <em>oh</em>, throws his head back in the rapture of it.</p><p>“Move,” Trent says, small, almost sweet. “Clay, please, I need you to.”</p><p>And Clay does.</p><p>He tries to be thorough. He tries to hold steady. The last thing he wants is to hurt Trent, but Trent has other ideas. He’s meeting Clay’s fingers with every push, trying to rut down and fuck himself on Clay’s hand. He doesn’t curse but he makes small, mewling noises in the back of his throat, gasps for <em>more</em>, <em>please</em>, <em>yes</em>, <em>there there, there</em>. Somehow that’s even hotter.</p><p>Metal’s lips are on Clay’s neck and his hands are on his shoulders, keeping him from floating away. Clay loses track of time. He never wants this to be over, when he could easily spend eternity fingering Trent open until he’s fucking him with three fingers, Trent’s body clamping tight around him, sucking him in greedily.</p><p>Clay is the one in control, technically, but he’s never felt more lost at sea. The only thing keeping him afloat is Metal behind him, hands sure and steady everywhere Clay is trembling.</p><p>But Trent is the one who grabs his wrist, eyes streaming, and begs, “Now, <em>now</em>, right now.”</p><p>Clay couldn’t be readier. But in his concentration, he’s softened some from before. Metal senses his hesitation immediately. He wraps one hand around the velvet softness of Clay’s cock, teeth grazing his shoulder.</p><p>“Can I touch you?” Metal growls into his skin.</p><p>“Please,” Clay gasps. “I’m sorry—”</p><p>The apology isn’t halfway out of his mouth when Metal is winding his other hand into his nape. He eases Clay’s head all the way back, onto his shoulder. They lock eyes. He can feel Metal behind him, hard and huge against the seam of his ass.</p><p>Metal makes a ring with his fingers and pumps. Clay cries out.</p><p>“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Metal’s hand is skilled, unrelenting, honed with practice. Clay is dizzy with it. “You’re so fucking hot like this, all innocent while you finger my boyfriend like you’ve been doing it for goddamn years. You have some fucking nerve.”</p><p>“Oh, God, fuck, Metal, I’m not gonna last,” Clay says, panicked.</p><p>“So sensitive.” Metal hums in pleasure and swirls his fist around Clay’s cockhead, fast and rough. “You always like this? You always get this wet and needy for it? Or just for us?”</p><p>Again, Trent is the one who brings them back. He manages, somehow, to push Metal’s hand away and tug Clay’s hips forward. Metal rips open the condom wrapper, drops it twice in his eagerness, and rolls it over Clay with shaking hands. It’s slow and almost tender and even Metal moans as Clay lines up and pushes his tip <em>in</em>. And Trent finally does curse.</p><p>Clay tries his best to be gentle, but it still punches a gasp out of Trent when he slides fully inside him. Trent coils so tight around his cock, hot and wet and perfect, eager to be filled. Clay gasps when he bottoms out and almost comes on the spot. He kicks his hips forward on instinct, and Metal stills him with two large hands around his waist.</p><p>Metal smoothes up his chest to circle his neck briefly, with a light squeeze, an admonition.</p><p>“None of that,” he scolds, with two taps of his fingers on Clay’s jaw. “Trent isn’t allowed to come on your cock, yet, remember? I said so.”</p><p>They’d talked about this, when Metal whispered into his ear what they were going to do. Trent warming Clay’s cock inside him, while Metal fingers Clay open, neither of them allowed to come until Metal is inside him.</p><p>Clay sobs in thwarted release but nods furiously, desperate to please.</p><p>Metal coos like a pleased schoolteacher. “Look at you. Both of you, such good listeners.”</p><p>“You,” Clay whimpers, “are not a real person.”</p><p>All three of them laugh, tension breaking for a moment. The motion has Trent squeeze around Clay and they both groan, bringing them firmly back to reality.</p><p>Metal is uncapping the lube, warming it up in his fingers. Clay knows what comes next. It doesn’t lessen his shivering excitement in his chest, doesn’t temper the fluttering of his rim when Metal circles it with one, cool finger. Metal presses a hand to his back and guides him down to drape over Trent. Clay goes willingly.</p><p>Clay comes nose-to-nose with Trent. “Hi.”</p><p>Trent’s eyes bunch up into crescents. “Hi, yourself.” He kisses Clay’s forehead.</p><p>“You two,” Metal says, almost fond. “Try not to sound so innocent while I get you off, yeah?”</p><p>Clay clamps down on a hysterical giggle. “No promises.”</p><p>Metal gives him one more slow, devastating circle around his rim. Then he pushes inside.</p><p>Clay feels his entire body seize. It’s the most intense thing he’s ever experienced, Trent clamped tight around his cock, Metal working his finger inside of him. Clay has never done anything like this before but being stuffed and tight on both ends is kind of driving him insane. Metal’s fingers don’t feel <em>good</em>, exactly, not yet — just gently pushing him wider, stopping every time Clay gasps or winces, until he’s taking two of them without too much discomfort.</p><p>Trent is twitching underneath him. His cock is still an angry red, neglected and overstimulated all at once with Clay still deep inside him but not offering any relief. He’s smearing wetness across both their stomachs with every shudder of Clay above him.</p><p>He bites his own lip so hard Clay is afraid he’ll draw blood. “God, Scott, please,” Trent begs. “How much longer, I need to be <em>fucked</em>, it’s not enough.”</p><p>“Not yet,” Metal says roughly. “I told you. Don’t be needy.”</p><p>Clay forces himself to relax, and when Metal finally, finally offers a third finger, he sinks into him with a wet noise.</p><p>That’s when he hits the bundle of nerves inside Clay, and <em>oh</em>. Lightning and earthquakes and molten lava, everything they describe in the romance books, the shit that only happens in the movies. It slashes through Clay so intense, he can’t stop himself rutting into Trent, who sobs in response.</p><p>Metal wraps his hand around Clay’s throat again, this time with enough pressure it sends Clay’s head spinning. “You might be a virgin, but you’re desperate for it, huh? Bet you’ve imagined getting off on my fingers for a while.”</p><p>Clay isn’t going to survive. There’s no way he’s going to last long enough for Metal to <em>finally </em>stuff his cock inside him, the way Clay is shaking with desire and anticipation for.</p><p>But somehow he does. Somehow he wills himself to submit to Metal stretching him open, pumping in and out of him until his thighs are trembling. Trent cards his fingers through Clay’s hair, though, and holds him close. And maybe that’s what keeps him from losing himself completely.</p><p>Then all at once Metal draws away.</p><p>“He’s so fucking tight, babe,” Metal says, with a sudden sharp slap across Clay’s ass. “I don’t think you were even this tight the first time I fucked you.”</p><p>Trent gasps a delighted laugh. Clay’s face is already burning bright with the humiliation of what he’s about to do. It doesn’t stop him. He reaches back and cups his own ass with both hands, spreading himself wider for Metal, bare and vulnerable.</p><p>There’s an achingly long pause.</p><p>Then Trent says, hushed and a little awed, “You were right. He is a needy little slut when he gets going.”</p><p>Clay feels Metal shudder violently from where he’s nudged Clay’s legs apart.</p><p>“Please,” Clay begs. His voice is wrecked almost beyond recognition. “Please, if I’m a slut, then fuck me like one.”</p><p>Metal chokes on a moan. Then it’s a flurry of frantic motion as Metal is ripping the condom wrapper, gripping his thighs hard enough to bruise, lining up, and burying his cock inside him.</p><p>Despite how long he spent working Clay loose, Metal is so thick it’s almost painful, stretching Clay so torturously wide he sees spots dance in front of his vision.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” Clay whines, digging his fingers into Trent’s waist, where he’s clinging to him for dear life. “Oh, that’s—”</p><p>“You okay?” Metal asks, soft, at odds with how he was speaking earlier.</p><p>“So — big.” Clay writhes underneath him, already overwrought. “God, I can’t — need <em>more</em>, feels so damn good—”</p><p>Clay is gone. But he can distantly hear Trent laughing into his hairline and saying something like, “Don’t stroke his ego, sweetheart, he doesn’t need it,” and Metal is laughing, too, the three of them fumbling in this new configuration of their bodies.</p><p>Then Metal drags out of Clay almost entirely, drives back in with a wet slap, pitching him forward to fuck into Trent, and they’re all three crying out in tandem.</p><p>Forget what Clay thought before: <em>this </em>is the most intense thing he’s ever felt in his life, Metal fucking him into Trent, his cock pulsing inside Trent’s tight heat, his own body broken open and pierced deep.</p><p>Metal’s hand is around his throat again and he’s almost bouncing on Metal’s cock, his body gone weak and limp as he lets Metal use him and pump into Trent at the same time. The friction is so good, the wet slide almost too much. All Clay can do is stutter his body in between the both of them, rough and animalistic.</p><p>It happens in three.</p><p>One: Trent’s cock is so hard it’s almost purple. Clay takes it in his hand and strokes him clumsily, watches Trent screw up his eyes and feels him clench hard around Clay. Trent throws his head back and he’s coming, so hard he arches off the couch with a cry, so hard and so much he paints his stomach and up Clay’s chest with his release.</p><p>Two: Metal digs his fingers into Clay’s hips and fucks him in earnest, rhythm going irregular. Trent yanks Clay down by the shoulders to kiss him, sloppy and wet, Metal still pistoning Clay into him. Clay sobs against his mouth at the new angle. His eyes burn with tears.</p><p>Three: With the hardest thrust yet, Metal growls, “Take my cock so well for a fucking virgin.” Clay gasps in surprise and his head falls on Trent’s shoulder when his every muscle locks up and he’s coming, spurting hot inside of Trent, pleasure roaring through him so hard his ears ring. His body tightens like a vise around Metal inside him and then Metal is coming, too, falling forward onto Clay’s back, burying himself to the hilt as he spills into Clay, like he can’t press close enough.</p><p>Everything is quiet and hazy. Clay comes back to himself in piecemeal: Trent running his fingers through his sweaty hair, Metal rubbing circles with his thumbs on the backs of his thighs, his own body deliciously sore and aching.</p><p>Clay is slick with sweat and lube and cum that isn’t his own, and satiated with a bone-deep contentment. He feels like he’s stepped out to come back to himself and found everything rearranged. Like he’s been undone and Trent and Metal put him back together again slightly different than before.</p><p>The movie credits are playing on the TV. It strikes Clay as so utterly ridiculous, he almost laughs. How did he get here? He has no idea how. He’s still half-convinced he’s stuck in a dream and will wake up any moment. He doesn’t, though.</p><p>All three of them are reluctant to move. Metal is first, sliding out of Clay with care. He rolls off and lands on his back on the floor with a thud.</p><p>“God,” he groans at the ceiling like he’s in pain. “Not bad for your first time, huh?”</p><p>Clay pulls out of Trent with a guttural noise and curls up at his side. He presses his feverish cheek to the cool leather of the couch.</p><p>“Terrible,” he rasps. “Absolutely awful. You both should be ashamed.”</p><p>Their exhausted laughs fill the air. Trent throws his arm around Clay’s shoulder, noses behind his ear. “I like you. You keep Metal humble. We need you around more often.”</p><p>Metal heaves himself up and makes quick work of his and Clay’s condoms, tosses them in the bathroom trash can, and returns to bicker with Trent about who gets to be the middle spoon until Clay plays tie-breaker and wriggles into the middle, to allow them both to wrap him in their arms. They’re all too overheated and gross for it. Nobody seems to mind.</p><p>Clay doesn’t want this to be over so soon, but he’s itching like he’s overstayed his welcome, maybe. “I’ll just, uh.” He shifts in Trent and Metal’s arms. They stare at him, questioning. “It’s getting late.”</p><p>Metal arches an eyebrow. His chin is on Clay’s shoulder. “And?”</p><p>“You’re not getting away from us that easy,” Trent says, only half a tease. He pinches Clay’s nipple just to hear him yelp. “We’ve only got a queen, but I think we can make it work.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clay says, trying not to smile huge and goofy like a loser and failing miserably. He turns his face into Trent’s neck to hide it.</p><p>“Can I kiss you?” Trent asks, in the same sweet voice from before. Clay answers him with his mouth. Until Metal tugs on his shoulder and pulls him to his lips, instead, murmuring, “My turn.”</p><p>They take turns kissing, deep and languorous, and Trent and Metal bicker again about who gets up to fetch the blankets when they get cold. They never make it to  bed, after all. Clay falls asleep with Trent on his chest and his fingers in Metal’s hair.</p><p>It’s the best he’s slept in years.</p><p> </p>
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